


Gallery Walk

by blackandwhiteandrose



Series: Everything She Said [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxious David Rose, Art Galleries, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Conversations, F/M, Kinda fluffy maybe, Light Angst, M/M, New York City, Nico is back, Patrick Brewer is a Good Husband, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, anniversary trip, date night in Brooklyn, david's lost years, friendship is a wild concept, learn to take a compliment david, lots of talking, memories are rough, mentions of poor life decisions, not an ad for Uber, snack search
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhiteandrose/pseuds/blackandwhiteandrose
Summary: "Patrick picked up the business card propped against the computer. “Doing a little digging this morning?” he asked, glancing over at David."What’s going on with that gallery? Or that Nicole person. Do you know her?”An unreadable expression flickered across Patrick’s face. “Do you… not recognize that name?"David’s eyebrow quirked up, “Should I?”(OR)David finds an unfamiliar business card among Patrick's stash. He has questions. Many of them. And they're all making him anxious.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Everything She Said [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788763
Comments: 46
Kudos: 257





	Gallery Walk

**Gallery Walk: a learning strategy that promotes interaction and builds on previous knowledge of a topic**

\------

“It’s gotta be in here…” David mumbled to himself, ruffling through the contents of Patrick’s desk drawer where he hid the snacks David was supposed to keep his hands off. He was positive there was another one of those sea salt caramel cranberry dark chocolate crack bars from Lacey at _Chocoh!ate_ hiding somewhere. Surely he hadn’t eaten all of them, had he? 

David sat back in Patrick’s chair, looking at the mess he’d just made while on the hunt for a sugar fix. Maybe Patrick would stop somewhere on his way back from his meeting and bring him a treat. Knowing there was a good chance Patrick might do exactly that, he set about fixing the contents of Patrick’s drawer back into order.

There was something satisfying about flipping through the collection of business cards from vendors that they had amassed. It was tangible proof of the relationships they had built, and the goods and services that were reaching an audience they may have never otherwise had a chance to, if not for Rose Apothecary. David smiled to himself, fanning the cards out and whipping them back into a tidy stack. Just before all the cards slotted into the pile, one caught his eye that he knew he’d never seen before. 

He sifted back through, looking for the black card amongst all the others of white, cream, ecru, and ivory. He grasped the corner, pulling it free and set the rest aside. The design was impeccable - black background with a shiny iridescent ink, the faint outline of a flower as a watermark. “Nicole Sullivan. Asset Curation and Acquisitions Liaison,” he read aloud. He thought for a moment, wondering if that name should mean something to him, if he’d forgotten a contact that he and Patrick had made networking somewhere. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

He took the card with him as he exited the backroom, having spent enough time off the sales floor. He propped the small rectangle of heavy weighted paper against the computer, pulling up a new browser window to do a search. He typed the name into Google, _Iris Atelier_ , “Now that’s just pretentious enough…”

Scrolling through the gallery’s website, he found it was only a couple blocks away from where his own business had been located. And he was quickly realizing, if this place had existed when he was still there, he would have either been slightly nervous or a little jealous. Possibly, probably both. As far as he could tell from the website, everything about _Iris Atelier_ was a masterpiece of visual perfection. 

There was absolutely no way an interaction with anyone involved with this place had slipped his mind, and he couldn’t imagine what Patrick would have to do with a high concept art establishment. Unless... he wasn’t ruining some sort of surprise by snooping was he? Their first anniversary trip to New York was coming up, was Patrick planning something? But how would he have…

David’s attention was suddenly drawn to the door, as he heard the bell. He started smiling immediately, upon noticing Patrick walking in with a small bag that could probably, maybe, most likely contain something delicious. “Hello, lover,” he said, leaning in to kiss Patrick and grasp at the bag as nonchalantly as possible. “Do you have something for me?”

Patrick chuckled, knowing David was more likely talking to the contents of the bag than him. “How are things going today?” he asked, slipping behind the curtain to drop the rest of his things. When David didn’t reply, he turned around to see his husband giving him a thumbs up, mouth too full of the cinnamon cocoa muffin he’d found to actually answer. 

“Good.” Patrick laughed lightly again, just for a moment, until his eyes caught something as he moved closer to the register. He picked up the business card propped against the computer. “Doing a little digging this morning?” he asked, glancing over at David, in time to see him ready to pop the rest of the muffin in his mouth. 

David gave him what he hoped was his best sheepish grin. “I was looking for those delish mocha-choca-lotta-cranberry-caramel bars…”

“I moved them. Again.” Patrick said, slipping the card into his pocket. A quick glimpse at the screen, still pulled up to the _Iris Atelier_ website let him know the chocolate bars hadn’t been the only thing David was looking for.

David noticed where Patrick’s eyes were, and wondered if he should ask or not. He’d feel bad if he had stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to know about yet. But better to know now than have to act fake surprised later, maybe? “So, you’re an art connoisseur now? I’m happy to see my impeccable taste has influenced you.”

“Yes, of course. How lucky am I?” Patrick was ready to duck back behind the curtain and put the card away, counting on David to get distracted by something else.

David gave him a little shoulder shimmy, “I’d say very lucky indeed.”

“Oh, I know.” Patrick slipped his hands to David’s waist, pulling him close for a slow, sweet kiss. 

David was only too happy to reciprocate, grinning when they broke away from each other. “But really, what’s going on with that gallery? Or that person. Do you know her?” 

An unreadable expression flickered across Patrick’s face. “Do you… not recognize that name?”

David’s eyebrow quirked up, “Should I?”

“Well, I just mean, you know more... art people than I do. I, uh, I think, though, she goes by Nico? Nico Sullivan?” 

“..... okay?” David raised his hands in a half shrug, having no idea what Patrick was trying to get at.

“Maybe we’ll stop by the gallery while we’re in New York. Just to take a look.” Patrick commented in a way he hoped sounded casual, then retreated to his desk in the back room.

David stood, scowling, figuring now there had to be more to the story than Patrick was letting on. Was he really just trying to do his best to hide some sort of grand gesture? It was possible; that would be very on brand for Patrick. Before he could think too much more about it, a steady stream of customers and several phone calls kept him occupied for the next couple of hours.

* * *

Setting the table for dinner, David couldn’t shake the feeling Patrick was trying to avoid telling him something, but not necessarily the fun, super secret surprise kind of something he had originally thought. David didn’t think Patrick had really done or said anything to make him suspicious, it was more what he hadn’t done. But he still wasn’t sure what it was that was rattling around in the back of his mind that just seemed off. They didn’t keep secrets. Not anymore. Suddenly, he dropped one of the plates onto the table, “Did…. did you … date her?!” he asked, with a hint of panic. 

Patrick spun around to face him, “Date who?!”

“That Nicole person!” 

Patrick watched David’s hands stop mid-flail as he waited for an answer. “No, David. I did not date her.”

“Then who is she? How do you know her?” David pressed, moving the plate he’d let slip into its correct place.

Patrick brought the pan of chicken parmesan to the table, “She works for that art gallery. I only met her once.” 

David made a reach for the salad bowl, but stopped before he actually grabbed it. The cagey answers were ratcheting his anxiety to levels he did not appreciate, especially when it was almost time to eat. “Once? Was she a one night stand?” The trepidation was audible in his voice again.

Patrick moved closer to David, taking his hands. “David. No. I have absolutely no kind of sordid romantic past with her. I met her at the store. We spoke, she gave me her card, she left. That’s all.” 

David snatched the salad bowl and set it on the table. He knew he should probably just let it alone, but he couldn’t. Sitting down he asked, “What did you talk about? If you wanted to discuss art so badly, you should have just asked me.”

Pulling his chair out, Patrick sighed, “We talked about you, David.”

He hated everything about that sentence. “Me?! What?! Why?!” 

“She came to the store to see you,” he said, his tone suggesting he was disappointed in himself for what he was saying.

“To see _me_?” David dropped the silverware he’d just picked up, eyes wild. It sounded like the beginning of a nightmare. He could not think of one good reason someone, especially someone from New York, would want to see him. A shot of terror raced up his spine. “She didn’t… have a… like, a … childorsomething did… she?”

“Oh my god. No! God. Nothing like that.” Patrick reached across the table to put his hand over David’s, and felt the remnants of a tremble.

David’s relief was audible. He opened his mouth, to say something, but stopped. He had so many questions to ask and didn’t know which was more important to start with. “Why...why didn’t you tell me?”

Patrick frowned, then said, “She asked me not to.” 

“What? Why? When was she even here?” He wished his voice didn’t sound so wobbly.

Patrick took a moment to put food on both their plates, then nudged David’s toward him, encouraging him to eat, as if that would help whatever he was about to hear. “She thought it was best if she just stayed in your past. She was in town, she had heard about the store and wanted to see it. Wanted to see you. You weren’t there, because you were out at the Richardson’s farm. So we talked a little bit and she left.”

David was trying to keep his anxiety at bay and knew that he was close to failing. He should know her. Apparently he should have recognized her name. “What did she have to say?” he asked in a whisper.

Patrick watched as David’s hands disappeared into his sleeves. “It wasn’t anything bad, David. She just told me she knew you from New York, that she was an art student that liked to hang out at your gallery and you’d talk about art. She wanted to know if you were happy. I told her you were.”

David had closed his eyes as Patrick spoke. The gallery. No wonder he didn’t remember her name. Or who she was. He pushed his chair back and got up. “Thank you for making dinner. I’ll eat later.” 

Patrick sat back in his chair. He started to call after David as he walked upstairs, but let him go. 

* * *

David sat in bed, laptop open on his crossed legs. He’d typed her name into a search bar, but couldn’t quite make himself hit ‘enter’ to get results. He wanted to be mad at Patrick for not telling him the afternoon she’d been in the store, that he’d keep things from him again. But it was also typical Patrick to keep things to himself that he thought would hurt or upset David. So what had she told him? 

He finally clicked the button and waited for the entries to populate. There were numerous Facebook pages, as well as LinkedIn profiles for various Nicole Sullivans. He didn’t particularly want to spend the time going through each one, so he scanned until he found a page from the gallery with glowing customer reviews of her services. He read a few of the posts, picking up that she was clearly very good at what she did. 

He switched over to an image search, looking for pictures that might spark some sort of memory. Having only her name and place of employment didn’t give him much to work with. He figured there would be at least a few promotional shots from gallery events, but none that named her specifically. He remembered Patrick had called her something else, said she went by … Nico. He shortened Nicole to “Nico” and tried again. A multitude of pictures popped up, including an alarming number of dogs. But there in a cluster, were several shots of the same girl with platinum blonde hair, and a bright smile. She was beautiful, for sure, but everyone he’d known in New York had been beautiful. He believed he’d known her. She looked like someone he’d have spent time with. He stared at the pictures, willing some sort of reminder to associate itself with her. He’d been worried about her being a former romantic dalliance of Patrick’s, but what about himself? Had he shared a bed (bathroom stall, dark corner booth, back of a cab, coat check, balcony chaise lounge) with her at some point? For all the people he could remember fucking, he also knew there were plenty he couldn’t recall.

There was only one other thing he could think of to try and he really didn’t want to do it. But he also couldn’t stand not knowing. He went back to the search bar and amended his query, adding his own name and the gallery’s before hitting enter. Immediately, a thousand images he’d have been happy to never see filled the computer screen. He barely recognized the David of five-to-seven years ago: skinnier, strung out, stumbling out of bars, cars, and clubs, surrounded by an ever changing entourage. If they’d known each other while David owned the gallery, she would have had to have gone out with him and his… friends? acquaintances? 

David closed his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. It all felt so far away now, that it was easy for him to forget how far he’d come. How much better anything he had here was than anything he’d ever had before. 

He clicked on one of the first pictures, making it larger so he could look at the other people in the picture, doing what he could to scan over himself. It took several clicks, but then there she was. Off to the side of the shot, but part of the group. Everyone in the picture was obviously heavily under the influence, except for the blonde. She just looked… what was that? ‘Concerned’ was the first word that came to his mind. Several photos later, there she was again, clearly holding David up. And another, her hands grasping David’s arm, pulling him back toward her while he appeared to be shouting at something or someone. He wondered what had been going on at the time, as he hit the forward arrow to the next one. The shot was almost identical to the last one, but taken with a wider angle lens. He could now see that Sebastien had been just out of frame, his arm draped possessively around another man’s waist. 

David flipped the lid of the laptop shut. That was enough research for now. He lay back in the pillows, closed his eyes and thought about what she - Nico, he should be using her name, at least - had seen. She probably knew more about those nights than he did. 

“Hey… are you okay?” Patrick asked, quietly, from the doorway. 

David shrugged. “I don’t know. No? I don’t recognize her. I don’t know what she knows about me, what you know because of her, or why she’d care about me now.” He glanced over to Patrick, waiting for him to fill in the gaps.

Patrick moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “She liked your gallery and talking to you about art. She was around enough to know you weren’t happy. She heard about the store from some relative in Elmdale and stopped by on her way through town. She was just curious how you were doing.”

“No one from New York has ever cared how I was doing. That has been made abundantly clear. Repeatedly,” he said, with a roll of his eyes. 

“I think you might be surprised, David. Like I said, maybe we’ll stop by while we’re in New York.”

* * * * *

David stood in his closet, staring at the racks and stacks of black and white garments, feeling utterly uninspired to pack any of them into the suitcase lying open on the bed. He’d been looking forward to returning to the City, and being able to take Patrick and show him everything he’d loved about living there. He wanted time away with Patrick, time to celebrate everything their first year of marriage had been. He imagined walking hand-in-hand through his old neighborhood and visiting his favorite places to eat. 

He’d wondered if he would take Patrick by the gallery, but had never really come up with an answer. He hadn't even decided if he wanted to see it himself or not. Sometimes, he believed he did, but now unable to associate the gallery with the hazy memories of the lowest point of his life and people he apparently couldn’t remember like he should, staying away seemed like a better idea. 

* * * * *

David couldn’t stop smiling. Their first full day in New York, their anniversary day, had been perfect: they slept in, got bagels at a corner bakery, strolled leisurely through flagship stores and parks, and stopped at cafes for coffee and snacks. He’d enjoyed watching Patrick take in the sights and sounds and smells of the City and its frenzied energy. David had realized he could fall in love with New York all over again, with experiences that were fresh and lovely and most importantly, shared. 

He had planned their evening to celebrate their anniversary with the kind of simple romantic moments he’d always dreamed about. They’d made their way across the Brooklyn Bridge late in the afternoon to take in the waterfront greenspaces and historic architecture along the Empire Stores. Patrick had been both a little surprised and more than happy to oblige David’s desire to take a ride - and sneak a few kisses- on Jane’s Carousel. They joined hands again for the short walk to dinner, with a reservation David had made months ago. Their table at the River Cafe was amazing, right at the windows to watch the sunset over Manhattan while they noshed on pear salad, Wagyu steak tartare and what David pronounced to be the best Branzino he’d ever had. 

Patrick had looked absolutely radiant in the dusky light, his eyes the color of cognac and so full of love and adoration, as he raised his glass to toast David and their first year of married life. David blinked away tears at Patrick's sentimental words and didn’t think twice about leaning all the way over the table to kiss him, slow and deep, just the way he wanted to.

* * * * *

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, watching as David tweaked the same few strands of hair into submission for what had to be the twelfth time. He couldn’t figure out why he was on edge - he should have still been plenty worn out from the night before. They’d exhausted each other with words and promises and declarations of love that only come in the form of hands and mouths in exactly the right places and bodies moving together in time to wildly beating hearts. But ever since David had been awake, perhaps aside from the distraction of Patrick lathering him up - and languidly jerking him off - in the shower, he’d been vibrating with some sort of anxiety. 

“Do you have a plan for today, David?” Patrick finally asked, hoping for some insight.

David dropped his hands from his hair. “Mmmm… yes? Maybe? I don’t know.” 

Patrick stood and closed the short distance between them, slipping his arms around David. “I’m down for whatever you want to do.” He pulled David into a hug, and kissed the spot on his neck that he had long ago claimed as his, immediately feeling some sort of relief in David’s posture.

“I thought… maybe we could go by _Iris Atelier_ … and then see what else is around there?” He looked at Patrick, his dark eyes doubtful. 

Patrick nodded. “I think we should. We can go and look around and … see what happens.” 

“Yeah…” David knew what Patrick wasn’t saying. Something about the whole idea of what he was about to do nearly made him nauseous with uncertainty, but his curiosity wouldn’t let him not try.

* * * * *

 _Iris Atelier_ was the gallery that David didn’t know he’d wanted to own. If he’d had three more years and a million more dollars, it was exactly what he would have eventually cultivated. Everything about the space was a precise balance of visual symmetry: chaos and harmony. The color of the walls, the so-precise-it-was-disconcerting display of art and sculptures, the music playing, and the provocative scent that permeated the air were all so tantalizing it was making David forget he’d ever been hesitant to step inside. 

Patrick was suitably impressed with the gallery, but was much more interested in watching David take it all in. His head was swiveling like he couldn’t look at everything fast enough, and practically bounced back over to his husband.

“This is... _everything_!” David exclaimed, his hands flailing around to indicate the entirety of the area.

Patrick smiled, glad David seemed to have lost the apprehension that had been hovering over him. “I know I don’t get it the same way you do, but it is kind of amazing.” 

David grabbed Patrick’s hand, tugging him toward a giant canvas that covered the better part of a wall, speaking rapidly as he explained something about either the style or artist.

Patrick couldn’t keep up with David’s enthusiastic critique of the work they were standing in front of, but he wasn’t really trying to listen. He couldn’t help but imagine what David must have been like in his own gallery space - animatedly conversing about a new collection or the artist’s daring use of color or something. When David dropped his hand to hurry over to a sculpture in the corner, he began to look around for employees. 

As if by magic, a very petite young woman with a bright smile appeared beside him. “How may I be of service?” 

Patrick took a step back, surprised by her sudden presence. “Uh, hi. Um, I was wondering if Nico…um, Nicole Sullivan was in today?”

“I’m sorry. She left to meet a client about 20 minutes ago. Is there something I may assist you with?” 

“No… I… we were just … going to say hi.” Patrick said, thinking attempting to explain was just unnecessary. 

She pulled out a business card from a kind of hipster toolbelt Patrick just noticed, and quickly wrote a number on it. She handed it to him. “That’s her mobile. You can catch her anytime.” 

Patrick took the card, identical to the one he had back at the store, but with her cell number scrawled on it, and slipped it in his back pocket. He looked back over to say ‘thank you’ and realized the girl was gone again. He glanced around for David, trying to see what had most recently grabbed his attention. 

David was standing in front of an art installation made of metal and lights, trying to remember enough of his high school French to translate the title, “ _Coeur d'un Cafard_ ” . He felt Patrick approaching as much as he saw him, “What do you think?”

Patrick considered it for a moment, “Honestly or my best art snob?”

“Mmmm… art snob, please.” David slipped his arm through Patrick’s, waiting.

“The warmth of light radiates against the coldness of the metal, creating a dichotomy that forces the viewer to look inward and reflect on their own feelings toward the harsh realities of modern relationships in an age of isolation.” Patrick said, haughtily. 

David tried valiantly to disguise the smile attempting to take over his face. “I am so hot for you right now.” 

Patrick gave him a wink. “I know.” 

David’s hand slid down Patrick’s back, into his pocket. As he gave him a gentle squeeze, his fingers found the card. He pulled his hand back, bringing the card with him. He seemed surprised, as though he’d forgotten part of the reason they had even been at the gallery. “Did you… did you see her?”

Patrick shook his head. “She’s not here. She just left to meet a client before we got here. That’s her cell number on there, though, in case we want to call…” 

David let out a long breath, somewhat relieved he wasn’t going to literally be face to face with his past just yet. Somewhere on the walk to _Iris Atelier_ he’d resigned himself to letting it happen, but now that it hadn’t, he thought he might like to have more control of how it went. He held the card up between two fingers, “Can I hang onto this?”

“Of course. Whatever you do with it… is totally up to you.” Patrick told him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. 

* * * * *

David paced around the hotel room, phone in one hand, and Nico’s card in the other. He’d been debating what he should say for so long he knew he was going to run out of time and Patrick would be out of the shower and ready to go dinner if he waited much longer. He took a deep breath and dialed the number. The call picked up almost immediately.

“Hello, this is Nicole Sullivan.”

“Um… hi… this is… this is David. David Rose.” He dropped down into the chair he kept passing before his knees gave out. He made phone calls to people he didn’t know all the time. This shouldn’t be so hard. 

“David?! Oh my god…” 

David was totally caught off-guard by the tone of her voice. Like she was … excited to hear from him. “Yeah. Um. Hi. I got your number at the gallery? Patrick and I stopped by today, but you were… um, out.”

“You’re... here? You were at Iris today?”

There was a shift in her sound, less enthusiastic, more … nervous, maybe? David nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, “Yes. I loved it. The space is amazing.”

“It really is. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He was sure he could hear her smiling, but then there was a long-ish pause. “Are you… are you going to be around for a few days?” 

“We have two days left.” He knew what she was going to ask and he could feel the jittery energy starting through his body again. If he made the suggestion first, at least that was something he could control. “I was wondering... if maybe… if you had time… or wanted to… maybe we could meet? Somewhere? If you’re not… not busy.” 

“I’d love that. I have a show tonight, but I could after that?”

David knew ‘after a show’ easily translated into one a.m. or later. Younger candy raver David wouldn’t have thought twice about going out to meet someone at that time. Married, mid-30’s David did not want to be anywhere but in bed with his husband after midnight. “That might be a little… late?”

“Wait… why don’t you and Patrick come to the show? I’ll leave early. Would that work?” 

David was surprised to hear her say Patrick’s name, somehow having forgotten he was the one that this had all started with. He immediately felt more at ease, knowing he could have Patrick by his side for whatever the night might bring.

* * * * * 

Patrick watched David’s face carefully as he took in the facade of the building, inspecting for changes and things that might still feel familiar. “We don’t have to go in…”

“Nope. We’re here. We’re doing this.” He gave Patrick’s hand a squeeze and walked rapidly through the doors, feeling strangely brave. 

Of all the places he could have imagined the show could have been, he’d nearly choked when Nicole had given him the address of his former gallery. She’d apologized profusely, seeming to suddenly realize that that might be the last place David would want to go. He had only barely nibbled at his dinner, trying to keep his anxiety from spiraling before remembering this was his only access to this kind of food for a long, long time and managed to finish everything he’d ordered and swipe a few bites from Patrick’s plate.

Thankfully, he noticed right away that there were virtually no similarities between the space that now existed and the one he’d occupied in this building. “It’s so different...” he said, quietly enough only Patrick would hear him.

Patrick looked up at him, “Is that… good?”

David nodded, “Yes. I can see it like this, without it… consuming me. Does that make sense?”

“I understand what you’re saying, yes.” Patrick glanced around, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

He led Patrick around the open room, explaining how he’d liked to set things up, to create a labyrinth that took people on a specific path he thought best highlighted his vision for the artists’ work. As they studied the paintings and illustrations on display, David kept muttering to himself, overwhelmingly not impressed by what he was seeing.

“Not appealing to your impeccable taste, David?” Patrick chuckled.

“They’re atrocious!” David hissed.

“You’re not wrong.” 

David and Patrick both turned in the direction of a female voice.

“Nico!” Patrick exclaimed at the same time David guessed “Nicole?”

David watched as she pulled Patrick into a hug, her messy bun bobbing as she threw her arms around him. He recognized her black drawstring shirt dress and shiny black moto boots from a recent Rick Owens spring collection. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Patrick told her, smiling.

She turned to David and stopped, just short of reaching for a hug. Her cheeks were a little pink as she said, “Hello, David.” 

He gave her a polite smile, “Hello, Nicole.”

“It’s weird to hear you call me Nicole,” she told him, twirling one end of her rope belt around her hand.

“I’m sorry….Nico.”

She shook her head, “No, either is fine, I just… I only use Nicole with clients at work. I just meant, since you were the one that started calling me Nico, hearing you say ‘Nicole’ sounded… odd.” 

“David nicknamed you Nico?” Patrick asked, adding this new piece of information to the story he already knew. “You didn’t tell me that!”

David took a step back to process. The casual ease between Patrick and Nico was disconcerting, as was the insinuation she told Patrick things that would make that particular piece of information seem like it should have been included. But more than that, he was bothered by the fact he had had an established enough relationship with her that he would have given her a nickname, that she would voluntarily be choosing to be known by all these years later, and he still didn’t remember anything specific about her.

“David?” Patrick called for the third time.

“Wha-what?” He snapped back into the moment, to see Patrick and Nico both peering at him.

“Hey, let me get you something to drink.” Nico disappeared off to the makeshift bar that had been constructed in the corner of the cavernous room for the evening. 

Patrick touched his arm, “Where’d you go?”

“I started calling her that? Why don’t I know that? Why don’t I know _her_?” He asked, in a rushed whisper.

Patrick gave him a rueful smile, “It was a different time in your life. Maybe you just… blocked things out so they were easier to move on from?”

It seemed like a logical enough theory, but not one that particularly made him feel any better. He slipped his fingers through Patrick’s and started walking toward the bar, hoping there was also some sort of hors d'oeuvres or canape nearby that may substitute for a shame snack. As they walked past a door, David gave a nod of his head in that direction, “That was where my office was. You would have … not been impressed with the state of business-adjacent items in there at the time.” 

Patrick chuckled, “Business-adjacent? So your books were a disaster?”

“Total dumpster fire.” David said, catching sight of Nico walking back toward them, three glasses in hand. 

“Here you go…” She handed one to Patrick, and reached out toward David with another when he took in a sharp breath.

Patrick watched David’s eyes slide back and forth between the office door and Nico, clearly making some kind of connection. 

“You brought me coffee… that morning... “ David’s voice wavered a little as he took the glass of champagne from her. He sipped slowly, noticing the flush in her cheeks again, as she arrived at the same memory. 

Patrick tried to hide his smile, knowing David had to feel some relief at the shared recollection. Sensing that topic wasn’t up for more discussion, he asked, “So, Nico, what is it that you do at _Iris Atelier_? The job title on your card sounds very impressive.”

Nico waved the compliment away, and said, “I find pieces for clients. Like, you want a…. cubist painting with a purple cat in it… I get it for you. If I can’t locate it, I paint it or if I have to, hire someone who can.”

“You must be very talented.” David murmured.

Nico drained the remnants of her champagne, “I do pretty well. I’ve already picked up five new clients tonight, so I’m good for a while. I can leave if you want to go … get a drink or something?”

David turned to Patrick, eyebrow cocked to silently ascertain his opinion. 

Patrick gave David’s arm a little squeeze. “I think I’m going to grab an Uber and go back to the hotel. Let you and Nico catch up.”

“Oh, okay… it was nice to see you again for a bit.” Nico said, giving him another hug. “Let me get my things, I’ll meet you out front?”

David nodded, and began walking to the door with Patrick. “You’re really going to leave me?”

“I just want you to be able to talk about… whatever you want to with her and not worry about what I’m hearing or thinking.” He gave David a sweet kiss, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to find the Uber app. “I think you’ll want to know some things she has to say. I’ll be waiting for all the details when you get back.” 

* * * * *

“You didn’t remember me, did you?” Nico asks, suddenly, before they’ve even made it a block away from the gallery.

“No. Not until we were by the office. And that was a very specific memory… the rest is still … very hazy." David stopped, mid-step. “I’m sorry, Nico. I know… I’m sure you know that wasn’t the best time for me.”

“I get it. I mean, I’m not going to lie and say I’m not a little disappointed, but I understand. I just.. I had wondered if you would or not.” She started walking again, “Do you want to find some place to get a drink?”

David had too much nervous energy to sit at a bar, and he knew starting to drink would make it too easy for him to attempt to alleviate any potential discomfort from the conversation by having more than he should. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk for a while? This is one of the things I miss most about New York,” he told her, waving his hands around, gesturing to the neon-lit streets, still full of people at a time where Schitt’s Creek was already asleep.

“Sure. I love this time of night.” 

Before she could say anything else, David turned to her, “Can you… tell me a few things?”

“I can try. What do you want to know?” 

David sighed. “Um, everything?”

“Patrick didn’t tell you anything?” Nico asked, curious if he was clueless or just verifying what he’d heard.

“No. He didn’t even tell me you’d come by. I found your card and started looking you up and couldn’t figure out why he’d have been talking to you. He said you knew me from the gallery and you’d stopped by to … to see if I was happy.” He hoped he was managing to keep his expression more nonchalant than he felt. 

She smiled a little, pleased Patrick had kept his word. “That’s basically what happened. After you … disappeared, I wondered what happened to you. I was always curious where you ended up and what you were doing. And I hoped you’d found better people to surround yourself with.”

“Why?” He asked, before he could stop himself. He knew it was the wrong thing to ask, but he had to know. He was sure that everyone had ceased to think about him the second he crossed the border back into Canada, if not before. 

Nico scowled, like the question offended her. “Because I cared about you? You were my friend, a mentor… how could I not worry about you?” 

David nearly tripped over his own feet listening to her. Mentor. That was not a word he would have ever expected anyone to use to describe him. He caught Nico giving him a sideways glance. He veered toward a row of benches under the streetlights, the need to sit and try to process becoming greater than his desire to keep moving. He waited until she sat down and turned to her. “Can you… Can you just tell me everything?”

Nico bit her lip, nodding. “I started coming to the gallery after one of my professors suggested a few for us to visit and I instantly liked yours the best. I felt good there. The collections were interesting and you were always nice to me, so I kept coming back. When you didn’t have buyers, we’d talk about art. Sometimes you’d ask to see what I was working on. If you liked it, I’d keep working on it. If you didn’t, I’d put it away and start on something new.” She stopped to laugh, “I still have a big binder of half-done projects that didn’t meet your approval. Sometimes I think I’ll work on them again and then I remember I don’t have time to do art for fun anymore.” 

David was actively trying to keep his jaw from dropping at her words. No one thought he was nice. No one had ever cared that much about his opinion. 

When he didn’t say anything, she kept going, “When you started … I don’t know, what was that? Dating? Whatever it was, when Sebastien started coming around, everything changed. You were _never_ in a good mood, more often than not it seemed like you were coming in still fucked up from the night before. And then he would show up and start ordering you around and you just… did it. I stayed away for a while because I couldn't watch you with him, but one day I was walking by … and you two were arguing in the alley. I don’t know what it was about, but I saw him… I saw him shove you and I decided I couldn’t stay away anymore, because someone needed to know.. what was going on. A few days later you came in crying and you knew I saw you that time… and I brought you coffee that morning.”

David had squeezed his eyes shut at some point while she was talking, memories flashing through his mind in bits and pieces. He remembered getting to the gallery and having no idea when that had happened, because he’d taken something in the morning to forget the night before. He remembered taking orders, because that’s what he thought he knew of love at the time. He remembered more than one argument in an alley that had ended with a push or shove and not in the sexy-up-against-the-wall kind of way. He very distinctly remembered the look on Nico’s face when she’d seen him crying in his office. And he remembered enough to know this wasn’t the worst of it. He looked over at her, “Thank you for that. I don’t know if I told you then or not, so thank you.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay. I just wanted to do something nice. I thought you needed to know someone was looking out for you, even if it was just a 20-year-old college kid. Because it didn’t seem like anyone else was.” She was blushing again. “You started inviting me to things after that. I didn’t know if it was because I knew, like, a secret about you or if you wanted me around or what, really.”

“Without realizing it at the time, I probably just needed a friend.” David admitted, giving her his best guess. 

“I can believe that.” Nico looked right at him, catching his dark eyes with her own. “I never understood you as _that_ guy. It never made sense to me, watching you pound down shots or snort whatever someone put in front of you or when Sebastien would tell you to open up and drop some pills in your mouth. Like, I couldn’t reconcile this smart, witty, passionate guy who could talk about how the colors came together in a Rothko for an hour, could be the same one who would still be a little surprised looking when everyone scattered and left him with the tab for the night or would look the other way and try not to act upset when his boyfriend was getting head from someone else in a not-so-dark corner of VIP. It just seemed like you got caught up in all of it and got... lost.” 

David’s heart was beating far too fast for his comfort, as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. Every word out of her mouth contradicted all the things he thought he knew about the people he had left behind in the city. How had someone gotten close enough to see right through him and he’d never noticed? It was a completely rhetorical question. He knew exactly how it happened. It was every time he said ‘yes’ to people and things he didn’t want. The things he ignored that he shouldn’t have. The times he let people take advantage of his name, his black card, his body. How could he see anything real in the middle of all that chaos?

Nico watched him, carefully. She wondered if she’d said too much or had poked at something she just should have left alone.

Looking straight ahead, he said, “I-I found some pictures... online with you in them. I mean, with you and me... and Sebastien. It looked like we - me and him - were having a fight in the street and you were .. pulling me away from him.”

“I was. I did,” she replied, matter-of-factly. She knew exactly the night he was referring to. 

“What happened?”

She sighed. “It was like, the fourth time you’d caught Sebastien with someone else and he made a big deal about how it wasn’t his fault everyone wanted him and that was why you had an open relationship, because he needed to be able to explore the best parts of the … available delicacies.” Nico shuddered. “I couldn’t believe how… smug and just… gross he was about it, and you were so, so fucked up that night, just high out of your mind, and decided you were going to tell him you were done or something. You were yelling but none of it made sense and he was just standing there with that guy draped all over him, saying how embarrassed you should be. All these people were coming out of the clubs and watching and like, encouraging you to keep going. Then I saw the photographers and was trying to get you to calm down and you were like, lunging at him and finally I just grabbed your arm and pulled you away. You were in no shape to fight me, so you just let me lead you. We went to a diner down the block, I made you drink a cup of coffee while we waited for an Uber and I sent you home.”

David cringed as she spoke. It was more horrifying somehow to hear these stories filtered through someone else’s viewpoint than it was to remember them himself. Several more pieces had come together though. He had often woken up wondering how the hell he’d gotten home. That must have been a task Nico had appointed to herself. “Um, did you do that… a lot? The Ubers?”

“Yeah. I never knew how or if you’d get home otherwise. So if you were really out of it, I would request an Uber, then make sure you got in the car, and hope the driver could put up with you long enough to get you home. And that you could find your way into your apartment.” She shrugged. “I guess it worked out okay.”

“You never… came home with me?”

Nico shook her head. 

“Did, um, you and I.. ever… um…?” David couldn’t keep his eyes from blinking so damn fast. What an awkward fucking question to have to ask someone. 

“No.” Nico told him, trying to keep her expression neutral.

“Oh. Were you not … interested?” He had to ask. She was beautiful and fascinating, so he was sure he had at least propositioned her somehow at some point. But she would clearly have been a better choice than any others he’d made, so maybe it did make sense they hadn’t ever… connected that way.

Nico’s hands flew up to cover her cheeks. “Uh, no, that wasn’t it. You, uh, never asked, and there was… I mean, Sebastien was around for a while, so… that was… that was not a thing. That happened.”

They were both silent for a moment, letting all the words that had been said settle around them.

David felt like he needed to say a million things to her, but didn’t even know where to begin, other than with an apology. He turned to her, trying to convey as much sincerity as he was capable of at the moment, overwhelmed with all that he was feeling. “Nico, I am … so sorry. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of the drama and saw the things you did and that you were the one who got stuck dealing with me. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

She hesitated for a moment, but reached for his arm, resting her hand just above his wrist. “I’m not.”

“You’re not... what?”

“I’m not sorry. I’d do it all again, and I’d do most of it the same way. I might have been a little bolder sometimes and tried to tell you that you were better than the things you were doing and worth more than how those people treated you, but I’m not … mad about it. I don’t regret anything I did,” she explained, trying to keep some sort of eye contact with him.

David let out a shaky sigh, “How? How can you be okay with that? It’s so unbalanced. And I know there is no way I can repay you for any of it.”

Nico looked at him, incredulous. “Oh, David. You have no idea.”

“About?” 

“The reason I’m so good at my job is because of things I learned from you. When I was working on projects for school, I took things more seriously because I was always thinking about if it would meet your standards for the gallery. You helped me set a bar for myself that made me a better artist. Your influence is… all over my life. My whole aesthetic… the name I use… the way I present myself to the world is very much courtesy of David Rose,” she told him.

David was trying to be subtle, brushing away the tears that kept springing up despite his best efforts to keep them at bay. “I would hardly say anyone should look to me as an example for … anything.”

“David, you made some really awful choices, I’m not gonna lie. It was hard to watch you do some of the things you did and let happen. But outside of those lapses in judgment - you had… have… plenty of role model-esque qualities.” She paused to give his shoulder a pay-attention-to-this kind of tap. “You walk into a room and command attention without even trying because even when you don’t feel it, you carry yourself like you have all the confidence in the world. You know exactly how to guide a conversation with a client to get them to something better than what they originally wanted. You have this carefully curated look that tells people so much about who you are, but still leaves a little bit for surprise. Literally some of the most valuable skills I’ve ever learned about not just surviving in the art world, but like, really making it work for me. So, thank you for that.” 

“Somehow I never pictured myself in New York crying on a bench at night again, but here we are,” he laughed a little, sounding choked up. He didn’t know how to reply to that string of compliments, and decided to ask something else that he’d been wondering. “When was the last time we saw each other?”

Nico sat back against the slats, thinking. “My senior year was so busy with projects and exhibitions, I only got to stop in the gallery once every couple weeks, instead of being there almost every day like I had before. The last time we were both there was right before the end of my fall semester, I invited you to my art show, but you said you were going to be somewhere. Japan, maybe? And then around Valentine’s day, we ran into each other at Starbucks. You said you missed seeing me around the gallery. I told you I had something I wanted to talk to you about and I’d stop by soon. But when I went a couple weeks later, the gallery had closed, and I had no idea where you’d gone.”

He imagined telling someone platonically that he missed them. He probably had missed her. He wished he would have gone to the show. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I was going to ask about a piece for my final exhibition.” She looked for a moment like she was going to continue the thought, but then shifted direction. “What happened when you left?”

“We ended up in Schitt’s Creek and I was miserable for a while. All I wanted was to leave, to come back here. But the longer we were there, things started to change.” He stopped and smiled, just thinking about what came next. “I met Patrick. We opened the store together. We… we fell in love there, and started building our life. We got married last year and bought a house. And now… I have everything I didn’t know I wanted. Or probably, more accurately, things I didn’t know I needed.”

Nico grinned, the change in David’s disposition was instantaneous when he mentioned Patrick. “I know I don’t know him well, but I think Patrick is probably a great guy. He’s got a good vibe, for sure.”

“He’s… the best.” David said, with a light chuckle. “Better than all the rest.”

“Oh, I absolutely believe that.” 

“What about you? You graduated and went straight to _Iris Atelier_?” David asked, glad to have moved to a lighter conversation topic.

“Uh… no. I got an offer from another gallery before I graduated, they had liked my senior showcase… so I worked there for a while…” 

“Oh, wow. Which gallery was it?” David figured he’d have offered her a job, had he been able to.

“Um… By Knight?”

David pursed his lips, trying to remember who had owned that space. The name sounded familiar for some reason. “Whose gallery was that…?”

“Bryson Knight.” She basically whispered, waiting for it to click for him. She saw it on his face, the second it all came together. 

“Sebastien.”

“I had no idea he was involved with Bryson when I took the job. I saw one of his photos on display, but I didn’t think anything of it because I knew he was always pushing everyone to hang his stuff. But then he started coming around and I was done. I quit the day his exhibition was announced. But I had built enough of a reputation for myself by then I was only unemployed for like, 29 hours. I started at Iris the next week and I’ve been there ever since.” She was smiling again. “Everything works out like it’s supposed to, I guess.” 

“Yeah…” David said, noticing just how much emptier the streets had gotten while they were talking. There were still cabs driving by and a few pedestrians, but it was definitely getting late or maybe early. He realized, too, just how worn out he felt, exhausted by all of the emotions and information their time together had brought. “I should… probably get back to the hotel… to Patrick…”

Nico hopped up off the bench, “Oh, sure. I’m sorry to keep you.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” David stood and stretched his legs. “Which way are you going? We can share an Uber?”

Nico pointed straight ahead. “I’m only like two blocks that way. I’m good.”

“Oh. Okay. May I walk you home?” 

She nodded, grinning. “Yes. Thank you.” 

“You made sure I got home on plenty of nights I probably wouldn’t have otherwise, so I am happy to accompany you.” David held his arm out, letting Nico loop hers through. 

“I’m glad you called, David.”

He nodded, “So am I. Thank you for tonight. And for all the other nights I didn’t say ‘thank you’. I’m … I’m glad I know now… that I can remember what this place was like, but also that it wasn’t exactly what I thought, either.” 

“I hope you remember there were good times, too. Your gallery was my favorite place to work when I was sketching or trying to come up with my next great idea, but it was also just my favorite place to be,” she said, glancing up at him.

David gave her one of his side smiles as they crossed the street, “It was mine, too. I appreciate you saying that. I appreciate… everything you’ve told me.”

“You’re welcome. I’m happy I got to see you. It always bothered me that I never got to say good-bye before,” she admitted. “I hope if… when you’re in New York again, maybe we can catch up then.”

“Yes. Of course. I’d very much like to stay in contact. If that’s something you would be interested in.” He stopped as Nico came to a halt outside a dimly lit apartment building.

“This is me. And yes, please. Let’s do that.” She said, smiling. “How are you going to get back to your hotel? Uber?”

“Yeah, I’m not nearly energetic enough to attempt the walk at this hour.” David chuckled. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, “Should I let you arrange it for me, for old times sake?”

Nico laughed, “Oh no, you can show me how much you’ve grown as a person by doing it for yourself.”

“Fair enough,” David pulled up the app, and requested a ride, accepting the only driver in a 10 block radius. He turned the phone to show her. “Impressive, yes?”

She gave a very serious nod, “Yes, indeed.” 

David opened his arms to hug her, feeling warm from the inside out as she wrapped hers around him. “Good night, Nico.”

She pulled away and went up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, “Good night, David.”

* * * * *

David opened the door to the hotel room, moving quietly in the low light. He peeked around the corner to see Patrick had fallen asleep reading with ESPN on mute on the television. He slipped off his shoes and clothes in the alcove by the door and did his nightly skincare routine as noiselessly as possible. David cautiously moved the pillows on the bed to retrieve his pajamas, and put them on, wondering if he should wake Patrick or not. He reached to carefully take the book Patrick had been reading and place it on the nightstand, then threw back the covers to climb in bed next to his husband.

“David?” Patrick sat up, bleary-eyed.

“Are you expecting someone else to join you in bed?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

“No, the model from that photo series we saw left earlier, so you’re good.” Patrick teased, reaching to pull David in for a kiss. 

David kissed him back before jokingly pushing him away, “You just think you’re so funny…”

“I do. I am.” He waited for David to get situated, snuggled against him. “So, how was your time with Nico?”

“You were right.” David said, not looking at him.

Patrick smirked, “I’m sure I was, but can you be more specific?”

David rolled his eyes, “You were right that I needed to talk to her. I needed to hear what she had to say.”

“Good. I’m glad you went then.” He slid his hand back and forth on David’s arm, happy to have him back after the evening apart.

David bowed to kiss Patrick again. “I am, too. I still don’t understand, but it was … interesting?”

“Okay? What don’t you understand?” Patrick had been curious the whole time David was gone, what they were talking about, if it was a similar conversation to what he’d had with Nico.

“Everything she said? All of the things she did for me?” David’s hands were flailing, clearly showcasing the turmoil he was experiencing. “She’s telling me that I was a role model and … and she learned things from me! I shouldn’t have been anyone’s mentor! Especially not then and with all the things she knew… but she said it anyway!” 

Patrick reached out to grab his wrists and hold them in his lap, and looked at him with that soft, you-can-calm-down expression. “David...” 

“No, don’t give me that look right now. She saw some of the worst things I’ve ever done or been a part of, and then made sure I got home! Who does that?!” he asked, his voice rising.

“Someone who cares about you,” Patrick said, candidly.

David pulled one of the pillows out from behind him and squeezed it to his chest, letting his chin sink into it. “I really didn’t think anyone here cared. And now I know someone did and I hate that I didn’t know it then. I don’t know how I missed it…” He turned to glance at Patrick, “I probably wouldn’t have even recognized what I should see. It’s not like I had great examples of what friendship was supposed to look like.”

“But now you do. Both here and at home.” Patrick reached over to slip his fingers through David’s hair. “I was thinking while you were gone... that everything that happened for you here, good and bad, is part of who you are. If it wasn’t for that, we wouldn’t be us and we wouldn’t have the life we have together now. If Nico had even some small impact on that, then I’ll be forever grateful to her.”

David slid further down into the bed, leaning against Patrick’s shoulder. “Thank you for letting me go and giving me that time on our anniversary trip.”

“You needed to know you weren’t as alone as you thought. Someone has always loved you, David.” Patrick said, pressing a kiss to David’s temple.

“Love? No one said anything about love!” David exclaimed, ready to welcome his anxiety back for a bonus round.

“You know it’s not always something you say to someone, David, sometimes it’s just something you show them.”

“Are you gonna show me now?” David asked, willing to be distracted from thinking more about what Patrick had just said might mean, as Patrick started nibbling on his earlobe.

Patrick slipped his fingers below the waistband of David’s pajama pants, “I’ll show you now… show you again later…”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I greatly appreciate everyone who liked part one enough to ask for part two.
> 
> Thank you, Lanime17, for reading this repeatedly.
> 
> Feedback and kudos are my fave. <3
> 
> https://blackandwhiteandrose.tumblr.com


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